I hadn’t seen my best-friend-wannabe in years and then one August afternoon she was walking toward me on Queen Street. Was it really her? The brilliant sunshine was unkind to her. As she approached I noticed the mutations that time has wrought. An exhausted face with rings around eyes that have lost their luster. Her throat has thickened as has the rest of her. Her physique is a collection of body parts that don’t fit together. Short legs, long arms, small flat buttocks below wide hips. My stomach knots as she gets closer. Will she stop? Who will she see?